From the Four Winds
by Wandrian
Summary: When the Yu Yu gang encounters a wild, otherworldly girl within a haunted forest, they discover that she is the last survivor of an extinct demon race. They may have unwittingly uncovered ancient history, but for one, something much more greater is unearthed. Hiei/OC.
1. Specters

"_There is no one who does not carry scars on their heart. If there is was, they would be a shallow soul_."  
-Hiei

— **From the Four Winds **—  
Chapter One: "_Specters_"

The world was green.

Sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves, attempting and failing to penetrate the dense haze of the forest. Instead, it lit the trees with a jade sheen, as though the legions of trees had once been constructed entirely out of bronze and copper, abandoned to time and the elements, only to be swathed in verdigris. It was an ancient city, the oaks like looming watchtowers, the bluish fog that lingered above the undergrowth like smoke from warming fires.

The world was green, and the world was shadows.

And there were strangers.

Four silhouettes had entered into the fog, walking like specters in the murky green light. The foliage was so thick underneath that their footfalls were silent; the only sound that of the distant howls of wind skimming the trees above.

She watched them, more curious than threatened. Strangers were all she could think of, but the word was strange within itself; she had never encountered strangers, not like these. Beasts of all kinds, thick fur and sharpened claws, she had dealt with, but they had been beings of the forest. No manner of creatures that resembled her reflection when peering into water had ever set foot inside this wooded realm.

Strangers.

Strange.

Her head cocked to the side, the curiosity augmenting and beginning to get the better of her, although her instincts cautioned that the four were possibly dangerous. The intruders, the _strangers_, continued further into the forest, and she slid from one tree to another, clinging to branches, to thick, twisted tree trunks, remaining in the shadows as a silent specter herself. She watched, intrigued, how the fog swirled about their ankles, how their shadows darkened the forest all the more.

Then she heard their voices. _Words_, she thought, and listened. _Strange_. They spoke as they ventured forth, their tones hushed with caution, and she could see even from her high perch that the hairs on their necks and arms were raised. Their eyes flickered about their surroundings, and she was careful not to breech her tree's protective shadow.

They were not fools—she realized approvingly—but were wary of the forest.

She set her shoulders like theirs, stiff and ready, and listened to them.

Their sounds varied. She found herself favorable to the different pitches and timbres and how they seemed to harmonize, reminding her of all the birds that sang together only during the forest's quiet mornings.

The leader of the coven abruptly raised his voice, and she ducked her head beneath a large, olive-colored leaf, startled, and eyed him through a shaft of sunlight. She slid down the tree to attain a closer look, crouching behind a large shrubbery to watch them pass. Behind her makeshift mask, she peered through the tiny peek-hole of leaves to watch him come into view.

Strange, strange, stranger.

He wore green and a scrunched face. _Scowl_, she thought instantly. Another odd word, but it was fitting. _Annoyed_. His body was lean, shoulders squared, and walked through her forest's brambles with hands shoved insides the clothing he wore over his legs. The leader's scowl deepened, crinkling eyes that were dark and very aggressive, and she was given the impression that they had seen much more than she could ever imagine in her vast forest world.

And then, strangely, he rolled them.

She cocked her head to the side again, proceeding to roll her own eyes, curious and amused, wondering the nature was behind such an action.

The next in the group, however, she directly connected with as the reason for the leader's eye rolling. _Irritation_, she mused, thinking that the leader disagreed with how heedlessly—_dangerously_—loud the second's voice carried throughout the forest.

Like their voices, their appearances were vastly different.

She almost felt the second's exhaustion, observing the streaks of sweat that lined his rectangular face. His fists were clamped together, and once again the word "irritation" ran its strangeness through her mind. His features were nothing compared to the thick sweeps of hair the fell, with a tapering curl, into his eyes. It was _orange_. Orange like the poisonous flowers that grew in lakebeds within the forest.

Intrigued once more, she pulled her attention to the next in line.

And was nearly blown away by the sudden onslaught of energy that emanated from him, a strange, all-together different energy that she had felt from the first two. This energy was stronger, much more controlled, but pulsated around him like an aura of pure power. She edged closer, ducking when the leader's turned his head in her direction.

This stranger, like the previous one, had hair that reminded her of the forest's flora, this time of the small petals of the flower that hung in vibrant eruptions of red from numerous tree vines. She felt a faint urge to reach out and touch the long mane, intrigued over the unruly but obedient way it fell across his forehead. He was not quite as tall as the first two, but his body was leaner, whose footfall, like his expression, seemed calculated. She shifted uncomfortably, not entirely due to his calm appearance, but by the innate sense that something much less composed dwelled inside of him.

His eyes were strange. _Trustworthy_, a shade of green that belonged only to the forest.

Glancing away, her eyes locked onto the last of the strangers.

And her curiosity peaked.

Instinct coursed hotly in her fingertips, alerting her of danger, and she shivered in response, involuntarily poising herself to either fight or flee. Holding a breath, she leaned closer, almost shaking the leaves of her shrub.

He was smaller than the rest, but his energy ran even more rampant, wilder than the redhead before him. It quaked around him, like the lightning storms that often struck the sky overhead, and once again she felt her fingertips burn hot with unease. She breathed slowly, watching.

His face was a mask of detachment, smooth and sharp on his very angular face. He peered around the forest, brows low, just as calculating as the one before him. His silence, however, was different. Whereas the redhead seemed nearly serene, his silence was almost tangibly menacing, and it was evident that it was much preferred. His black attire had him fading into the forest's background, truly more of a specter than she was.

But when his eyes roamed near her shrub, her breath shuddering to a halt, she could see the assured, feral depth accumulated within them. And they were red. _Crimson_. Almost—but not quite—like fire and blood, like life and death. As quickly as they came, they flashed away.

She edged closer once more, indiscreetly tempting fate. _Strange_, she thought again, suddenly wanting to test the word out loud. Biting her lips together from doing so, she peered through the flora to view upon the strange eyes.

The color stood out fiercely, especially in the midst of the subterranean smog, bright, an absolute yet deep dwelling red, and for all her recollecting she could not unite the color to anything she had ever seen within her forest. Not the blood, thick and warm and deep, from the beasts she killed for sustenance, not the exotic flora the forest blossomed, nor from the evenings she spent scaling the highest trees, swaying upon their crests, to look upon the scarlet hues of the falling sun.

Strange, strange.

Strange.

It was the kind of color that the dark forest around her accepted, the color she wanted it to possess, to surround her. The kind of color that was almost not a color itself, but an entity, a living shade. He was dressed simply, but there was no color to him but the fathoms of red.

And within the next moment, again, those same eyes flew across her shrub.

She held her breath, careful, heart beating with a kind of fear she never knew existed. But they flitted away, returning to their previous indifferent gaze, and she exhaled deeply. Soon, the group, at a safe distance from her shrub, passed by and trekked further into the heart of the forest, disappearing behind a cascade of violet-colored vines.

With the strange pounding in her chest, she scaled a nearby tree. She smiled once catching sight of the intruders, furtively following their progress. And then more questions arose: Why were they here, trudging through her spectral forest? Why start out silent and wary to speaking so foolishly loud to one another?

But more importantly: _Who _were these strange creatures?

It was clear that they were dangerous, potential threats, emitting high levels of energy that she had never encountered, but they simply walked amongst the trees, peering about as though they were in the midst of a hunt.

Her eyes narrowed. The only creatures that had crossed her path early in the day had been a pack of fissinus, omnivorous scaled beasts that roamed the forest. She had killed a scavenger or two when they ventured too near to her dwelling, but more often than not the packs evaded her path if she evaded their own. They were savage and mainly infested the caves at the base of the forest's lone mountain, but were wary creatures due to their slow breeding cycles.

She was rather fond of these beasts, her jaw setting at the thought that these strangers might harm them. Once, many seasons ago, creatures with arms and legs much like her own, but with slimy amphibian flesh and faces, had hunted them down and rode the fissinus like mounted prey.

They had not been imperceptible to fire, she smiled grimly, fingernails digging angrily into tree bark at the memory. Their last breaths, screams of anguish, echoed in her ears. _Trespassers_, she thought.

The grouped stopped. She remained in the shadows, within the shield of leaves, watching them more closely than ever as they formed a loose circle. Their voices were much more hushed this time. Edging closer onto a branch, she ducked to remain crouched in a shroud of shadow, trying to listen to their odd pitches.

A branch snapped.

It came from behind her, but far, far below. All the same, the group snapped their heads towards the direction of her tree. She stiffened with equal alarm, hitching her breath, but before she could move an arrow made entirely out of stone whistled passed her head, piercing the airwaves towards the four strangers. It landed with a soft thud in front of the orange-haired creature, who shrieked with surprise.

She moved quickly, as silently as possible towards the trunk of her tree, but stopped when a pair of crimson eyes had pierced through the shadows and caught the movement.


	2. Into the Trees

— **From the Four Winds **—  
Chapter Two: "_Into the Trees_"

"Tell me, Hiei," Kurama murmured, careful not to completely breach the forest's heavy silence. "Do you have the same suspicion that we are being followed?"

He glanced at their surroundings, stepping in Kuwabara's wake, using his footpaths to tread as soundlessly as possible. All seemed undisturbed, peaceful. Quiet. But that was a lie.

The forest was so, so alive.

Above, so far above, the wind trilled amongst the treetops. Below, the forest was nothing but silence, nothing but green, and nothing but an army of shadows. The foliage, thick and abundant, from moss to hanging veils of ivy to vivid outbursts of fauna, felt more encompassing than the stillness. Even the trees, Kurama heeded, were imposing—like sentinels, watching their progress, so large and numerous with trunks so ancient that time had gnarled them together.

Had the forest not felt so unnatural, he might have felt at home amongst the greenery.

But they were not alone.

_Yes, I feel it._

Kurama felt the familiar weight of Hiei's brusque voice in his head, and noted the tone of indifference within it. This should have pacified him; if Hiei was bored then there was nothing to truly caution. Still, unease prickled his fingertips, and responded so quietly that his lips barely parted.

"It seems to possess a strange energy."

Hiei scoffed, but Kurama couldn't decipher whether it was caused by Kuwabara tripping unceremoniously over a knobbed tree root and squawking, or in response to his observation. He glanced behind, however, and saw that Hiei's eyes scanned the forest under a low, foreboding brow.

_Hn, there is no reason for caution. Its spirit energy may be strange, but it is pathetically weak._

Strange, yes.

Weak? No.

Not entirely.

Kurama took a moment to listen to the forest's silence. He heard the soft crunch of his feet treading upon the carpeting undergrowth, but could not perceive Hiei's following footfall. Yusuke and Kuwabara were beginning to argue, but quietly enough that it was not difficult to tune them out.

Soon, all he heard was silence ringing in his ears.

And it was…_disquieting_.

Unnerving.

Strange, he decided, because all his senses were pulling instinctively towards the presence that followed them. Kurama's fingertips prickled with discomfort once more. This instinct did not feel natural, but had begun from the moment they had stepped into the forest. It was innate, energized, a pressure in his mind that he could not describe. A sense that he could not detect.

Deep inside himself, something growled roughly. Warily.

Hundreds of demons, thousands, multitudes of various races he had encountered and his intuition could not completely read this solitary demon's spirit energy. It felt wrong. _Strange_. Weak, perhaps, but nearly undetectable with its wavering. It was not the full onslaught one could read from a demon, their energy feeling more like an eruption of heat than anything else. This, however, was entirely different.

It was a whispering in his mind, in a language of energy he did not know.

Perhaps it was not the forest's silence that was spectral, but originated from this whispering energy.

Kurama's gaze flitted from tree to tree, but all was quiet.

"Perhaps, though it's unlike anything I've encountered," he said, pausing as he listened to the forest. "Yet there is always cause for caution, Hiei, and we should be wary nonetheless. Can you see this demon?"

There was a long silence. When he spoke, Hiei's voice was very hard.

_No. I cannot read its feeble mind either. This forest is under a pall of magic. _Dark _magic. My Jagan can't see through this haze. If we should be wary of anything, we should be wary of that. All the same, whatever manner of creature that lurks behind us won't linger much longer._

The hairs on the back of his neck rose at the thought.

"Should we tell the others?"

Kurama heard Hiei's faint snort from behind, but the derision in his tone was much more dominant.

_Leave the detective and his fool to their bickering. If it's one of the demons we hunt, it won't be long before it fails miserably in its attempt to ambush us._

Kurama nearly grinned. Yusuke and Kuwabara's heated argument had progressed in abundance, leaving the former to clench his fists in white-knuckled aggravation and the later to raise his voice, octave by octave, until a flock of birds roosted in a nearby tree were spooked away. Then Kurama sighed, sensing that their own stratagem of silence was coming to a close.

If only that was all he sensed.

"Agreed," he said, taking a deep breath of the forest's musky aroma, feeling the presence following them even more closely. "It's best if we feign ignorance to bait it out."

_Hn._

Kurama was about to reply when Kuwabara's fist went sailing towards the back of Yusuke's head. There was a loud _thwack! _and Yusuke stumbled over a large plant the color reminiscent of Botan's hair, with pink stigmas to match.

"Urameshi!"

Yusuke rose slowly, turning to level a poisonous glare at Kuwabara. Through clenched teeth, however, his voice was dead even. "Kuwabara."

"Urameshi!"

"Kuwabara."

"URAMESHI!" Kuwabara barked, fists quivering.

Yusuke grinned like an imp. "_Kuwabara_."

Kuwabara gurgled angrily in his throat and raised his fist again, aiming for Yusuke's head. Moving to block the oncoming attack, Yusuke's eyes widened when Kuwabara had shifted at the last moment, sending his left fist to wallop Yusuke in the chest. The detective went down, spraying fallen leaves in his wake. Kuwabara stood over him, crossing his arms together.

"Hey, you listen to me when I say your name!"

Yusuke struggled upright, a halo of leaves sticking in his hair. He glowered at Kuwabara and shoved him back. "I _was _you overgrown jackal!"

"I know what you're doing," Kuwabara narrowed his eyes accusingly, then jabbed Yusuke in the chest. "You're just trying to annoy me as a distraction so that I forget to ask for a break."

Yusuke sniggered. "Really, Kuwabara? Wow. Allow me to guess which part of your anatomy that twisted logic came from."

"Shut it, Urameshi," Kuwabara growled. "I'm serious. Break time. We've been walking around in this dark, creepy forest for hours and all this walking is starting to make me all dizzy. Probably from you leading us in _circles_."

Yusuke rolled his eyes. "Cool it, Gigantor. It can't be much further."

Kurama chuckled lightly, having stepped aside when Kuwabara was shoved behind, and could see Hiei gritting his teeth in his periphery.

"Yusuke is right, Kuwabara. The faster we find the rock demons, the faster we will leave this forest. But I agree with you as well. This forest…it is unsettling. It appears the shadows have shadows," he said as Yusuke yanked leaves out of his hair. Then Kurama looked behind him. "Right, Hiei?"

But the fire demon had stiffed, looking out into the forest. Kurama could clearly see his muscles tense together, hard and taut, one hand raised readily over his katana hilt. Hiei's eyes were tapered, and before Kurama could say a word he too braced himself as a blast of spirit energy erupted from all around them. Then, a branch snapped.

_Kurama, watch out!_

Hiei's eyes were locked ahead, and Kurama moved swiftly aside as a sharp whistling pierced the forest's silence, a large stone arrow landing deeply into the earth in front of Kuwabara.

Kurama poised himself, ready, and he was about to speak when he sensed movement in the tree before them. But Hiei was faster, much faster, whose eyes were already focused ahead. Kurama barely heard his seethed words as Hiei glared into the hub of the tree, smiling darkly.

"Found you."

— — —

It happened within the space between heartbeats.

In that moment, all was silent. Nothing moved. Nothing but the stone arrow that quivered within its bed in the earth, though it felt like another had pierced through her chest and burrowed itself into the tree's trunk, fixing her into place.

His glare, the strange red eyes, remained locked onto her.

For a long, harrowing moment, she could not move. Then instinct coursed hotly through her veins, allowing her to crouch low onto the branch, fingernails digging deep into the ancient tree. She gnashed her teeth together, because now she could not breathe.

His glare was not wavering, and she could not look away.

Her lungs shuddered painfully under the weight of the glare. Conflicting sensations embattled each other, pulsating with each breath she labored for, something that felt reminiscent of terror and something that enkindled the magnetism towards the red irises. But most of all: something that was crouching and coiling within itself, ready to pounce—no matter the cost—in the act to safeguard her forest.

Breathing deeply, she returned the glare, digging her nails deeper into the bark.

The red eyes narrowed, deadly and aflame. Like the manifestation of unbridled power, like the firestorm that had once ran rampant and scorched thousands of trees into thick, grey dust. Like the forest itself, strong and dangerous and so, so alive. His eyes tapered again, watching her, searing and cold at the same time.

She growled deep within the back of her throat.

But then the red-haired creature spoke, and her eyes flitted towards him and the instinct to defend herself momentarily cooled from her fingertips. And, despite herself, she cocked her head to the side as she listened, absorbed once again despite the surging ire from the red eyes still on her. His voice was low and harmonious and urgent, speaking in words she could not understand, but were now—somehow—beginning to sound familiar.

"…the rock demons…level the playing field. Quick! …return to the forest clearing…"

Her eyes widened, replaying the strange words in her head, and relished the understanding of them. But the second she took to savor the words and sound of this creature's voice was a second she did not have. Another arrow pierced the airwaves, and then another, all penetrating deep into the forest's vegetation near their feet. She dropped onto her branch, her back arching with caution.

And they ran.

Within a moment, they were gone.

She followed them as before, ghosting their progress so quietly she was nothing more than another of the forest's spectral shadows. But they were _fast_. Surprisingly fast, _blindingly _fast. She grinned to herself, the wiry muscles in her body tensing and releasing and propelling her forward, enjoying the exhilaration of the chase.

Once again, even in the height of a nameless threat, her curiosity grew.

They may have been fast, but she had memorized the forest in the way the forest had memorized her. She slid from branch to branch, familiar with the way the trees' branches twisted together to form bridges between themselves, creating thick canopies of leaves that shielded the forest from the wind above. The wind may not have been permitted, but she followed them like a silent gale, fluidly gliding from one tree to another, tracking their movement through the spaces between leaves and grinning even more wildly when she had to halt because she had surpassed their progress.

And she watched him, both comforted and cold now that the heat of the red eyes was off of her. The energy radiating off of him was like before, wild and threateningly strong, surging and quaking all the more as he ran. It was evident that he was restraining himself, and her curiosity wondered just how powerful he truly was. Her fingertips prickled hotly at the thought.

They slowed, having backtracked to the forest clearing she had previously followed them from, and she smiled again, admiring their cunning.

She jumped from a branch, grasping a vine and swinging across towards the tree closest to them, arching high into the air before landing on the balls of her feet. When they came to a full stop, their backs to her, she clung onto the branch, watching.

Their muscles were all taut, shoulders raised and ready, feet set apart. The leader's chest rose and fell as he panted, the orange-head clenching his fists. All was silence was more, the forest resuming its soundless, spectral tune.

They all waited.

She crouched low, breaking the line of sight behind the tree's flora when the red-head glanced behind. When her branch began to sway, she glanced above, far above, to see that the wind soared forcefully amongst the treetops, promising a storm to come.

And then her skin prickled.

Hot.

Cold.

Familiar.

Strange.

She felt the heat of the red eyes before she saw them, and when she glanced back they had once again pierced through the tree's shadow and discovered her. Her breath caught and she gripped the branch tightly, but refused to break contact.

His eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared.

Then, a different sort of menace ruptured the silence, rendering her completely immobile.

A raw, quaking roar broke throughout the forest, its echoing aftershock rippling across the trees. She clenched her branch as it rocked from side to side, knuckles bloodless, her heart pounding against her chest. Instinct pulled at her to flee rather than fight.

_Fissinus_, she dreaded, closing her eyes. _Alpha_.

Another roar sent the four strangers to form a circle, and she observed, more cautious now than curious, to see that each now had pulled out an apparatus to defend themselves. Her eyes narrowed. _Warriors_, she thought warily, watching as the leader held his wrist, pointing a finger readily as his gaze flitted about.

The hairs on her arms raised, not because an alpha fissinus was near, but that the energy surrounding each of the strangers was amassing, more powerful than she had felt before, kindling like fire and searing against her own energy that she kept simmering carefully.

And then she sensed them—sensed them before she heard them, as it seemed the strangers did when their heads snapped towards her direction, but far below.

The horde of fissinus barged into the clearing, snarling and snapping viciously at each others feet. They were large creatures, covered entirely in metallic blue scales, with fangs that descended far from their mouths, their claws twice as sharp. Long, reptilian tails lashed out into the air, snapping and cracking in intervals.

The forest's silence was no more.

Atop the fissinus were creatures much like her and the strangers. Their skin, conversely, was the color of the forest's lone mountain when it stormed, a dull gray, slate-like color that contrasted against the fissinus' cerulean scales. Peering closer, she realized that their skin _was _rock, their eyes large and glittering and entirely black. They sneered at the strangers, showing off serrated chips of teeth, and held strange wooden weapons in their grasps.

She growled, not because these rock monsters rode the fissinus against their will, but that their stone-encrusted legs dug deep into their scaled sides. Seething, she watched as the jagged edges were wedging and splitting into the tender flesh beneath, drawing out rivulets of bright green blood.

There were more fissinus here than she had ever seen in one location, each mounted and each pulling against their roped constraints. One howled in pain as its rider kicked into its side.

She slowly reached up and unwrapped the bindings of her mask, glaring all the while at the monsters upon the fissinus, nearly forgetting entirely of the strangers. Anger, deep and foreboding and pure, ran rampant throughout her body, quaking her insides until her hands began to tremble. She set aside the mask, taking a deep breath, amassing her own energy into the core of her very spirit.

_Intruders_, she thought, and fought to restrain her wrath.

Suddenly, the ground began to quake. From below branches snapped, swaying her perch, and another roar filled the clearing with tremors. The fissinus instantly quieted, shifting upon their paws. She crouched low to her branch, ignoring another instinctual pang to flee and continued to focus her energy.

The alpha fissinus broke into the clearing below her tree, splintering the base of the trunk with ease as it galloped past. It halted in a rise of forest dust, spraying leaves as the creature's muscles quivered and settled, the blue fog that clung to the forest's floor swirling about its massive paws.

She held her breath, astounded at its sheer brute size, not having been this close to the alpha before.

It growled deep within its throat, a vibration that she could feel through her branch, and watched as its beady eyes rolled about. The alpha roared once more, displaying rows of razor-sharp, yellowed teeth. Its fangs skimmed the ground.

Atop the alpha was, clearly, the chief of the rock monsters. He, too, was a brute, a large mass of sentient stone that sat comfortably on his mount. In one hand he held a large stone club, the end encrusted in black jewels that tapered into lethal points. He was so large that his eyes looked like slits, but the packed stones of his body were littered with scars, bunched together like mounds of muscle.

She was not deceived, however. These monsters energy was nothing compared to the strangers, nor the fissinus, who were the true threats.

The alpha stalked towards the strangers, ignoring the chief's kick to its side, and growled, snapping its tail predatorily. It crouched low to the ground, limbs quivering with anticipation, tail coiling. But instead of pouncing forward to attack, the beast lurched to its hindquarters, roaring so deep and so high that is sounded more like booms of thunder than anything else.

She clasped her hands to her ears and gnashed her teeth against its deafening effect, watching as loose leaves fell to the ground, disappearing beneath the blue fog.

The signal had been made, and the pack of fissinus rushed forth to attack. The chief bellowed and raised his club in the air, mirth and bloodlust in his slotted eyes, as the alpha bounded forward.

As the dust rose, she could not see the battle begin.

Panic twisted inside her chest, but she did not take the time to ponder over it, but tried, instead, to penetrate through the dust and the fog, eyes flitting about the clearing. When she saw no flash of red, no incensed glare, she rumbled low in her chest and launched herself onto the branch far below her. She clung to the branch's very tip, swaying precariously, not realizing that her hands trembled with a strange, sudden apprehension.

It was not her forest's creatures that she feared for.

But then she scrambled backwards as a great, swathing energy emerged from the center of the clearing. A pinprick of bright light quaked and then thundered, amassing until it dissolved the dust and the blue fog from its sphere of pure energy.

"_Spirit gun_!"

The blast was greater than the alpha's roar. She felt the energy of it press against her face, sizzling hotly against her flesh, nearly blinding her and ripping away the breath in her lungs. Her entire tree rocked in it place, the ancient bark creaking and groaning, and her branch shivering beneath her grasp. She gasped, astounded by the power of such an explosion.

Astounded that it had not only blown various fissinus and rock monster to ash, but had dismounted the chief from the alpha.

As the dust and the fog resettled to the forest floor, the battled waged.

And she found him.

The result of the explosion had sent the alpha airborne. It had mewled in surprise, landing tumultuously onto a fallen tree. Now, however, it had risen to its feet, the golden strip of fur around its neck rising like hackles. It sauntered forward, claws digging deeply into the ground, muscles hard and rippling beneath its scales. The alpha growled menacingly, fangs tipped with blood.

Its eyes were locked with bright, searing red ones.

Her breath hitched. His power emanated off of him, much like the leader's, but was scorching and blistering like the energy from an inferno. His eyes were tapered, the black of his attire swathing him into the forest's shadows as he stared down the alpha, on the outskirts of the clearing and far from the ensuing battle.

He was unharmed, but he bore a long shaft of silver in his hands. It glistened strangely in the forest's gloom, appearing like a mass of molten stars, and she knew that it was just as sharp of the alpha's fangs, tapering to a razor point and coveting death.

She closed her eyes, knowing that he was no match for the alpha. Her heart hammered in her chest, eyes beginning to sting. Opening them, she stared at the red, trying to memorize the shade she had never seen her forest, trying to will him away from the beast that would toy with him and the slice him into filaments of flesh.

The alpha sauntered closer, and the stranger smirked.

Then, in one quiet, short moment, his red eyes flicked towards her. It was long enough. The red burst into flame, searing and scorching and brightening into a blistering heat. They narrowed, full of life and death and blood and power. She tangibly felt their heat, prickling her fingertips with her own turbulent intrigue and the innate sense to flee from such a blaze.

It was too long of a moment.

The alpha had seen this moment of weakness, coiling and pouncing toward him.

Too long, but long enough.

Her vision narrowed, the sound of the fight just as distant as the wind above the treetops. She growled, her senses sharpening as white hot urgency rippled throughout her body. Inside, she was nothing more than raging, pulsating instinct. Tensing, amassing her energy into a swift, surging sphere of power inside of her, she leapt from the branch and launched herself towards the great fissinus.

Something quaked inside of her, unlike anything she had ever experienced.

All she saw was red, all she heard was blood swelling in her ears, and all she felt was a strange, absolute rage.

She landed on her feet, facing the alpha fissinus, and, crouched low, collected her spirit's hot, angry power to manifest itself into a long staff in her hand. Her fingertips sizzled with energy, her skin trembling from its intensity. The bo staff glowed momentarily as a vibrant, colorless light, but settled into a hard white wood, its grain appearing like veins of silver.

Within a blink of the eye, she coiled and sprung, revolving the bo staff with blinding speed to gain momentum, and then thrust it towards the fissinus. The impact shuddered down her arm, the rounded point of her staff connecting at the base of the alpha's throat, halting it midair.

The beast dropped and croaked, breathing deeply as it struggled to it feet.

She remained crouched low, only faintly registering the immense heat behind her.

The alpha leveled it gaze at her, the beast so large that when it shuddered, the muscles beneath its scales rippled like water, undulating from head to tail. She was barely larger than its fangs combined together, which snapped upon its teeth with anger.

But she seethed, nostrils flaring, daring the beast to move. The alpha growled in response, eyeing the bo staff before locking its gaze onto her. When the alpha snarled, revealing more of its razor-sharp teeth, nearly deafening her in the process, she breathed deeply and snarled in return, one wild creature taunting the other, one alpha against another.

And the beast coiled itself, ready to pounce once more.

She felt movement behind her, the heat coming in closer, and it took everything within her not to glance behind. Instead, she allowed the heat to add to her resolve. Raw, unbridled instinct coursed through her veins again. Her limbs quivered from the sensation, the instinct to defend and protect, and for a moment it felt as though her slight body could not endure its accompanying adrenaline, that it would burst from her skin if she could not control it.

Her jaw tightened.

Before the alpha could pounce, she whirled the bo staff into a high arch, an extension of her limbs, and swiftly swept it across the forest floor to spray dirt into the beast's eyes. The alpha roared once again, clawing angrily at its face. Then, abruptly, it charged.

She crouched low, staff tightly gripped, eyes flitting for the alpha's remaining weak points.

But movement behind caught her off guard, her concentration split as the heat grew more burning. For an instant, she felt his warm breath fan across her back, then, suddenly, it vanished.

It was too late.

The alpha fissinus was nearly upon her, but her agile footwork was not fast enough when she pirouetted, guiding the staff to block the beast's attack. It snarled with rage and raked his claws across her back, carving deeply into her flesh with almost an artful precision.

She screamed through clenched teeth, faltering as pain racked her body. She stumbled, breathing deeply to gain control of herself, almost loosing grip of the bo staff as her vision momentarily blackened.

When it cleared and she glanced up, a spike of dread piercing up her spine as the alpha charged her once more, its paws thundering into the ground. She struggled upright, ready to strike out with the staff, ignoring the sensation of blood pouring down her back. She gritted her teeth, twisting her wrist to arch the staff into place and pooling her energy together, pulling at her wounds as she did.

The alpha jumped. She was ready to strike when it bore down upon her, but midair it shrieked and lost momentum, its large limbs clawing into the air before it thumped to the ground before her. Dust rose from where it landed, slumped in a mass pile of scales and claws, unmoving.

Her breath shuddered. Rage and pain and adrenaline did not abate from her body, but she tensed as she saw a pool of bright green blood forming at the alpha's throat. Its eyes stared at her, already beginning to cloud over.

The dust settled and she saw movement before her, the flash of red and the spectral black like the forest's shadows. His power still surged around her, a familiar heat now, but it was aimed once more in her direction. Her lungs quaked, the power within her chest surging at the danger before her, prickling her fingertips.

She moved when he moved, one wild creature pitted against another, and he stopped when she stopped. He was right before her, so close, so burningly close, crimson eyes locked and narrowed upon her. She held the bo staff to his throat, poised and ready, and she felt the tip of his glistening silver weapon against her own throat, barely piercing the tender flesh.

And then it happened within the space between heartbeats.

But it was long enough.

— — —

A/N: Guys, wow. _Wow_. The amount of feedback I've received with the first chapter far surpassed what I was expecting. It was immensely motivational. Thank _you_.


	3. Face to Face

— **From the Four Winds **—  
Chapter Three: "_Face to Face_"

_(In which there is blood.)_

Up close, she saw every shade.

It streaked in numerous veins down the length of his blade, thick and the most vibrant of greens within the wooded domain. Beyond him, the alpha laid dead, a huddled mass of scales and departed power. The blood pooled around its great head, seeping into the ground like it surged towards the forest's infinite heart far below.

And it seeped from him.

A shallow gash ran across a cheekbone, marking his flesh with a sliver of red. This close, she saw every physical facet of him: sun-tinted skin and low eyebrows and angular cheekbones, with a nose that looked more severe than fissinus fangs. His lips had disappeared into a thin line. He was nothing more than serrated angles.

He glared at her, the narrowing of his eyes making their natural slant all the wider. The outward edges of his eyes tapered upward, which lessened the sharpness of his face with surprisingly long lashes. She lingered on the crease between his eyebrows, a line that seemed permanent from the glower he perpetuated.

The red of his blood, however, did not possess the same brightness and depth and profusion of life as the red of his eyes. They were nearly the same shade, but, with his gaze locked onto her, she saw how his power was aflame within his irises, brightening like a kindled fire near his pupils between heartbeats, than gone the next.

And saw that something very feral lived within them, like _he_ was the wild creature that belonged to the forest.

His chest heaved, grasping the hilt of his blade with a hard, calloused hand. A long slit on the cloth that covered his arm revealed the skin below, the taut muscle that was compacted together, smooth but rigid in a way that prickled her fingertips to reach out and touch him.

Instead, she closed her eyes.

This was a mistake.

She sensed him move before she felt him, the most infinitesimal of movement that sent the tip of his blade into the tender skin of her throat. When she opened her eyes, she discovered that his body was beginning to quiver, tense with readiness. But there was something else, something more: _fear_. Not wariness, but a minute glimmer of fear that conflicted with the incensed red in his eyes.

And he spoke.

"What are you?"

And she understood.

His voice reminded her of the forest's solitary mountain: all sharp ridges and solidity and hardness, something unmoving, both very high and very deep from the passing of time, something amassed together with layer upon layer of stony detachment. Something so unlike the fiery red. Her skin crawled.

Then she froze.

She had understood his words. She had understood his words like she had understood the red-haired creatures and the leader's shout when he had made his attack. A moment passed, blood pounding in her ears and behind her eyes and in her chest, conflicted and confused not only because she had comprehended his words like she had known his language all her life, but perplexed by what his words meant.

_What was she?_

They were strangers, but was she truly _not _like them? They were creatures with limbs like her own, arms and legs, fingers and scars, soft skin and calloused hands, hair that fell from their heads, eyes that peered at the forest's beauty in wonder. They were strange, but they were now—somehow—more familiar to her than the trees that surrounded them.

Her thoughts halted. Her breath hitched.

They were _strange_.

They were _familiar_.

The bright, deep red—odd, but a comfort despite its searing heat.

His glare narrowed, the lids of his eyes masking more of the red as his face tightened, and she offhandedly noticed that his nostrils were flaring. He growled deep within his throat, truly a wild creature as well, and the muscles holding the weight of his blade began to quiver, not with fatigue, but rage. The red brightened like a conflagration.

Again, he made the smallest of movements, this time furthering the tip of the blade into the hollow of her throat. It pierced through the surface, but she did not flinch, nor did she break contact of the red hot ire of his glare.

Something shook within herself, something raw and undulating and seething. Her grip on the bo staff lessened, her own muscles beginning to quiver. When she took a deep breath, settling the power of her spirit within her that was still rampant with adrenaline and instinct, she withdrew the staff from his own throat.

As a result, he pressed harder, and the sting of the blade rung into her body.

The blade tipped further, allowing a tiny bud of pure silver blood to emerge. She watched him instantaneously still, muscles locked, blade immobile, eyes fastened onto the unsuspecting strangeness of her blood. Surprise widened, if only for a moment, his eyes.

His jaw visibly clenched together, tendons popping.

Then, as a rivulet of her blood, thick and vividly silver, slid down the length of his blade, it happened.

The silver, just a tiny drop, cumulated. It thickened and grew, a swell of silver that began to rapidly swathe over every inch of the metal blade. And it amassed in energy, pure and silent and rippling with power, tangibly felt in her fingertips and in the pinprick of her wound; her throat pounded. She watched calmly as her life essence became its own wild creature, a will of its own as it covered the entirety of his weapon.

The silver then seeped into the blade, much like the alpha fissinus's blood had seemed into the forest.

And, abruptly, the blade burst into a great, blinding white glow. He did not move, eyes watching when the brightness did not abate, and she was surprised at his fortitude and resolve, his grip on the hilt not once wavering.

The eruption of light had lasted for all of a moment, but with its strange white light, a colossal swell of energy had also ruptured forth. It struck silently, like a tremor of lightning that jolted from the base of her throat.

Then, it vanished.

In the distance, in her periphery, she saw the battle between the strangers and the rock monsters had halted, stunned by the radiating glow.

His glare snapped back onto her, pressing the blade further into her neck until rivulet after rivulet of silver descended onto his blade. The red of his eyes brightened, the glimmer of alarm more prevailing than the heated anger. For a mere moment, she saw his chest shudder as he exhaled.

"Answer me, creature," he growled, clenching his fist. "_Speak_!"

She opened her mouth, no longer feeling the pain of the blade, no longer feeling her spirit energy gyrating within her core; something felt…_strange _within her, a calmness that circled around itself, a calmness that felt pressured, like the familiar calmness before a storm raged above the forest.

She opened her mouth, but movement behind him caught her attention.

And it happened within the space between heartbeats.

But it was long enough.

The rock chief rose from behind his shoulder, clearly struggling to stand upright, but moving much more efficiently than his stony hulk of body should allow. Its glittering black eyes stared at her threateningly, contorting its pebbled lips into a grin that revealed many notches between its teeth; blood, an azure blue like the sky far above the treetops, was still gushing wetly out of the chief's gaping maw.

Its head was colossal and round, a sentient boulder, but it abruptly swung back, making a grating and victorious shout as it did. Before she could move, before the he could react, the rock chief thrust his arm forward, centering all of his brute strength into its attack.

Consequently, three long and razor-sharp gems pierced through his chest, the blunted tip of the club having been slammed into his back. He stumbled forward from the impact, red eyes open wide with surprise, and she barely moved in time before his blade punctured straight through her throat.

He fell, his blade fell, both lying inert on the forest floor.

And there was red.

Like the alpha, it spilled from the deep punctures in his back, pooling from each cavity onto the forest's undergrowth in rivulets of crimson. It gushed, red, red, red. She stood, just as unmoving as he, watching his life seeping into the ground.

She watched the red, eyes locked, until it was the only thing she saw.

It was the only thing she saw when she slowly moved her head, body beginning to tremble with the same ire that was in his sweltering eyes, until she locked her gaze with the chief. The red pulsated in her vision, tingeing the corners until it enveloped her entire sight. She felt the blaze. She felt the fire that was in his eyes, creasing his brow, moving through his blade as he had wielded it was masterful precision. The red was more than strength or power, but it was immense, quaking like an inferno within her chest, searing in her fingertips, sweltering beneath her skin.

This red, this bloodlust, was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

It was not instinct, nor was it familiar, or strange.

It simply was.

She clenched her fists, the bo staff long since disappearing back into her energy, and she stepped to fully face the rock chief. Her feet were parted, ready, her head tilted down as she leveled her eyes, the red, onto him. Her teeth gnashed together, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring like the wild fissinus.

The rock chief met her gaze, chuckling deep within its chest. It swung its club, the jewels glittering dangerously, and blood, his blood, so red and deep and thick, coated the spikes.

It charged.

And the red vanished.

Instead, it seeped into her energy, awakening it like a new sort kindling, fanning it like flames that would burn and burn and burn. Each pounding step that the chief took, the more her energy amassed, grew, blazed into a sweltering new power. It shook within her, quaking her insides until it hurt to breathe, the energy and fire beginning to fuse together until it was more than an inferno, it was a firestorm that would burn all.

She closed her eyes, letting it consume her.

She felt the red, the fire, and her own spirit energy boiling just beneath her skin. She felt it beginning glow, much like the silver blood had on the blade. The energy of the forest rushed to her, seeping into her flesh, illuminating it until the power within her nearly ruptured her into pieces.

When she opened her eyes, they were nothing but orbs of pure white.

The rock chief halted, a shriek of fear escaping its jagged lips, and turned to pivot on his heels.

And she let the power and energy that ran rampant within her, the red, the fire, the essence of the forest, burst forth. As the wave of spirit energy erupted, she quickly dove over him, pressing her elbows and knees into the earth, covering his body with her own.

The energy quaked and rumbled and howled, a thousand times more thunderous than the alpha's roar, and enveloped everything into a blinding bright sphere of light, pure and white. The energy thundered, hungry and powerful and enfolding upon everything that it touched. There was no escape.

And there was no control.

What she could manipulate with her energy, she had locked onto the remaining rock monsters, each strand of energy quaking like white hot fire, and seared them into ash. It took her breath away, the devastation of the power, how ultimate the energy was.

At the apex of the attack, however, she heard a shriek—strange, familiar—like that of massive bird, one that was burning and raining its own destruction down, one that knew the white energy, the red. She heard it trill one last time, a piercing shriek that she resounding into her bones. Then, nothing.

Slowly, the energy began to dissipate. Everything remained in the white light, but aftershocks rolled through the forest, uprooting trees that could no longer remained rooted to the ground. She wondered to what extent the attack had done to her home, but refrained from attempting to penetrate through the white glow, instead opting to press her body harder against his; every instinct within her told her to protect.

And then the white light began to fade.

The dust began to settle.

She blinked her eyes, looking around at the devastation in the forest clearing. And it was _cleared_. The clearing that had once been full of flora, carpeted in undergrowth, blossoming in green and vigor, was now completely cratered into the earth. Instead of the foliage she had clutched, there was dirt in her hands. Various mounds of black dirt littered the clearing, evidence of the rock monsters—and the fissinus, sadly—that were now nothing more than ashes. The trees that had been uprooted from the initial wave of the attack had been thrown back, having crashed into other trees, leaving a wide radius of destruction.

In the distance, she could hear the last of the shockwaves echoing into an end.

In the clearing, the world was no longer green.

But everything was once again silent. It was a heavy silence, one full from death, but she listened to it anyway. She breathed deeply, heavily, the fatigue that dwelled within her spread throughout her entire body, thickening her blood with its lethargy. The spirit energy that she could feel within her was very faint, quiet, a persnickety thing that did not want to be roused. And she grieved, deeply and with all she had, at the pain she had caused the forest.

She sighed, burying her face into the mound of cloth before her. Then she stiffened, as the scent of blood and sweat and wind and of something very strange and not familiar at all filled her nose. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, adrenaline making another round as she sat upright. A ringing filled her ears.

There was red on the strip of cloth that covered her, having soaked entirely through, sticking to her flesh.

Blood.

His blood.

She bit her lip, unsure of what to do, afraid to move him, afraid to see the red ire having clouded over like the alpha. Instinct, however, once again reared its head, coursing hotly in her veins, and forced her to carefully roll him over to see the extent of damage he had acquired.

He was deathly still. Fear and panic and apprehension ran rampant through her, stinging her eyes, and she breathed more heavily, wanting to do something, _needing _to do something to rekindle the red eyes. She clutched the dark fabric of his shirt, smoothing it out, careful not to breech the gaping wounds in his chest.

And then sorrow—such a strange emotion—enveloped her, slow and settling like the dust within the clearing.

His body was unfaltering beneath her, his muscles firm although they were no longer tensed. There was even an unusual tranquility to his expression, like he had not departed in pain. His eyes closed, the red no longer viewing the world, the forest, her, with searing heat. He looked much less severe, less angular. _Handsome_, she thought, though she did not know the meaning.

But then she reached out, unable to quell the sorrow, and touched his face.

And he moved.

He moved like a shock was coursing through his system, abruptly beginning to shift beneath her as he took deep breath after deep breath. His eyes opened, and they looked wildly around for a moment, the red holding more alarm than fire. But when they caught her gaze, the red became aflame, immediately returning to the heated glare she had become to familiar with.

She leapt off of him, settling instead at his side, careful not to touch him again.

He was, after all, another wild creature.

He struggled upright, clutching at his chest, gnashing his teeth in pain. Then he blanched, gasping, his face contorting as the blood left him frighteningly pale. When he clenched his teeth together, body quivering as he fought the agony of his wounds, she saw that his quick movement had opened them further; blood dripped onto his lap, onto the forest floor.

Instinct shrieked at her again—_help him_! And she did not take a moment to ponder over it.

Instead, she reached out and touched his shoulder. He jerked away from her touch, hissing in pain, and peered at her through incensed, agony-ridden eyes. The tendons in his jaw were popping; each muscle that she could see in his body was tensed as he fought to move, fought to fight. He even attempted to speak through his clenched teeth, but succumbed to silence when another wave of pain visibly racked his body.

He was bleeding out too fast, too much.

She reached out again, but he did not regard her touch this time; too focused on the pain and the blood that was coating his clenched fists. When she moved to kneel before him, however, his glare met her gaze, narrowing with such hate she almost recoiled. The heat the came off of him was astounding, like the rays of sunlight that sometimes penetrated the forest's foliage, but a thousand times more sweltering.

And he watched her. Watched her, observing and analyzing, glare focusing in on her face and each facet of her feature, as though if he turned his mind elsewhere from the pain, it wouldn't be so excruciating.

But he stiffened when she slowly picked up his blade. She disregarded the curiosity the bloomed within her over the object, knowing now wasn't the time to indulge her whims. Instead, she took it carefully in her grasp mid-blade, keeping the hilt always in contact with the earth. Guiding the tip towards her left palm, she sliced herself down the middle of it. Her blood seeped through the cut, not like the crimson seeping out of him, nor the crimson that stained her front, but once again the bright silver.

He watched her, eyes narrowing, as the silver blood pooled in her palm.

When she inched closer to him, holding out her hand, he retaliated by seething and grasping her wrist. His teeth gritted in pain, but his grip tightened, eyes dangerous and deathly red and never leaving her face.

She returned his gaze, and nothing more.

A moment passed, and then another.

And then another.

Each moment calmness settled over her, enveloping the fire and the red like how the white hot energy had enveloped over the forest clearing. This time, however, as each moment passed the calmness grew more and more serene, more cooling, like a light rain that aided the forest's growth. The calm serenity flourished within the moments until, little by little, his grasp loosened and the heat in his eyes was a little less sweltering.

Then, abruptly, she pressed her palm to his chest. She squeezed into each wound, watching as the silver and the crimson mixed, swirling together, splattering her arm and his chest, until one wouldn't know whose blood was whose.

He hissed with pain, too much in agony to move and push her away.

But the calmness never abated, with each second that passed, with each drop of silver that went into his wounds, the more his body relaxed. Soon, his muscles were no longer quivering under the duress of pain, the extra heat that it had brewed in his eyes vanished, and his hands uncurled from their bloodless fists. He breathed evenly.

He never looked away from her.

When she withdrew her hand, his wounds fully healed, she never looked away from him.

Now, there was a moment of stillness. Not silence. Not calmness. Urgency still rushed through her veins, thumping in her eardrums, something so much hotter than adrenaline or instinct. She breathed quietly, if a little heavily, through her nostrils.

There was still a glare in his red eyes, but, now, it had lessened.

With effort, even though his skin looked fresh and anew, he moved as though the muscles around his healed wounds ached, and he slowly reached out to her. He raised a trembling hand towards her face, his expression almost pensive, (_cautious_, she decided) his brows still low and foreboding, but the line of his lips set with determination.

His glare had almost softened completely.

She felt his fingertips, calloused and rough, skim across her cheek, and almost shuddered at the sensation. But then, abruptly, the glare returned and the red rekindled its flame.

Before she had time to stumble back in alarm, his face hardened, seizing her arm and squeezing hard. With the other he quickly snatched his blade. In one swift movement, he raised the blunt end and rammed it against the crown of her head.

And everything went **black**.

— — —

"Uh, guys, why is there a half-naked, wild chick lying unconscious on Hiei's lap?"

Kuwabara panted heavily, momentarily pulled away from his grumblings, and even cocked his head to the side in bewilderment. The moment Kurama's protective barrier vanished, the trio had rushed over to Hiei's aid on the far outcropping of the forest clearing.

Taking the opportunity to race Yusuke in the process and deflate his much coddled ego had sounded like a worthwhile endeavor. Losing didn't. His chest heaved as he nursed a stitch in his side, grumbling to himself when Yusuke shot him a smug grin.

Kurama smothered an amused smile, looking unfazed by their battle with the posse of rock demons.

The destruction of the clearing, however, sat ill with Kuwabara, who had initially looked around with stunned horror, flabbergasted by the sheer power of the attack. He blinked rapidly at the thought, still trying to clear his vision from the burst of black dots that had been a result of the blinding white light.

Now, however, his mouth was beginning to gape.

Hiei moved the girl in question from his lap, but to Kuwabara's immense surprise, he did so with much more carefulness than he thought the demon was ever capable of. Kuwabara, however, was not surprised when the shrimp utterly disregarded him.

"Watch it, Kuwabara," Yusuke muttered through the corner of his lips. "Or you'll start catching flies."

Kuwabara whacked him in the ribs. "Shut it, Urameshi."

But when Hiei had laid the girl down, lying amongst a soft mound of dirt, Kuwabara's mouth began to unceremoniously gape again. He nudged Yusuke, causing him to hiss when Kuwabara touched the spot he had previously hit.

"Dude, _look _at her," he said, blinking slowly.

"I _am _looking at her, moron," Yusuke responded, bristling. "And you'd best stop looking at her like that, or do I have to say the magic word?"

Kuwabara frowned. "What magic word?"

"Yukina."

"My beloved!"

Yusuke snickered. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Kuwabara glowered at the spirit detective, but returned his gaze towards the girl. She was more strange than anything else. Eye-catching? Yeah, he thought, but not in the beautiful sort of eye-catching like that of his red-eyed, warm-hearted ice demoness. He grinned goofily to himself, before movement from Hiei caught his attention again.

The fire demon had grabbed her arm, repositioning it across her stomach, as though he were making sure that she was comfortable although she was unconscious. Kuwabara raised both eyebrows, looking from her to Hiei, back and forth, back and forth, mild to severe with perplexity.

"Wait," Kuwabara blinked again. "Where did she come from?"

"She was following us from the very moment we stepped inside this forest, Kuwabara," Kurama said almost offhandedly, eyes never leaving the girl. His brow was furrowed and his tone held its own level of mystification.

This did not sit well with Kuwabara, and he shifted uncomfortably, his shoes digging into the dirt. "But I have the highest spirit awareness out of all of you guys, so how is it possible that I couldn't feel her spirit energy?"

This time Hiei regarded him, peering up with contempt in his eyes. He scoffed. "It was a ruse, fool."

Kurama merely nodded, still analyzing the girl. "Yes, she was protecting herself. Hiei and I barely felt it—she must have made it too weak to detect. Not unless you tried, of course."

"But…" Kuwabara faltered. "Why would she do that?"

"You truly are an idiot, aren't you?" Hiei said scathingly. "She was protecting herself. We are strangers in this forest, which happens to be her home. It's a miracle she did not try to protect it from us."

Before Kuwabara could respond, Kurama suddenly stepped forward, the color draining from his face, eyes wide. His hands were clenched together, forming bloodless fists.

"A miracle, maybe. Strange, even more so," he said quietly, then, more urgently: "Hiei, push back her hair. I need to see her face."

Hiei did so, skimming his fingertips across her forehead, leaving his hand in place to keep the strands from falling back into place. Kuwabara gawked again, and even Yusuke's head tilted to the side with curiosity.

She was a small thing, compact and wiry and in dire need of some Ramen, Kuwabara thought, eyes lingering on how her skin clung too tightly to her ribs. The color of her skin reminded him of his mother's tea when it was milky, but scars littered her body, some old and silvered with age, others newer and still a healing pink.

Her clothing, however, did not leave much to the imagination, which made Kuwabara blush. A simple band of cloth covered her chest, clearly not out of prudishness, but it acted as a buffer for the gnarled, heart-like tree vine that she had wrapped across her chest as decoration, a vine hooking around her neck to keep it in place, as though it was still alive and growing across her body. Below, she wore something reminiscent of a sarong. Loincloth, however, was what Kuwabara had initially thought, and grinned to himself as the Tarzan yell instantly echoed in his head.

But the girl's hair was long, cut unevenly and was even starting to form coils of dreadlocks, and was very thick. Even more strangely: it was very white. Pure white, stark white, like the light from the bright burst of energy. Kuwabara blinked rapidly again.

And on her face, now that it was uncovered, there were markings. They were white, stark white like her hair, which made them stand out in contrast against the shade of her skin. The markings were intricate, the result of a talented artist's hand, and the largest was below her right eye, curling around the curve of her cheekbone and ascending artfully towards her ear. The other marking, however, was a simple spiraled circle at the corner of her left eye, like an afterthought to the complexity of the other.

It was unlike anything Kuwabara had ever seen.

Kurama's breath hitched. "She's an Okuda."

Kuwabara blinked again, ignoring how Hiei had immediately stiffened, withdrawing his hand from the girl's face. Yusuke raised a brow.

"A what?" Kuwabara asked, befuddled.

Kurama glanced towards him, and then back at the girl. Kuwabara followed his gaze, both lingering on the swath of blood covering her chest, but she breathed too easily for there to be anything truly wrong. Kuwabara noted the bright glimmer of silver on one of her palms.

"An Okuda," Kurama said quietly, so quietly that Kuwabara had to strain himself to hear. Kurama shook his head, clearly disbelieving himself, and then stated so. "I don't know if I believe it, but it appears the myths are true."

Yusuke cleared his throat, his eyebrow still raised in question.

"Care to explain, Kurama?" he asked impatiently, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know, for those of us who didn't take Demon Races 101 back in apparition high school."

Before Kurama could explain, however, Hiei scoffed once more. His eyes were too bright to make his disdain effective, but they narrowed as he spoke.

"You cannot be serious, Kurama," he said, peering down only once at the girl, and only with indifference. "This creature cannot possibly be one."

Kurama disregarded Hiei, turning to Kuwabara and Yusuke. He cleared his throat, obviously unsure of where to start. Hiei snorted, glaring off into the forest with a tense jaw.

"Okudas were an ancient race. Demon race. They very first, as it's said. There is lore about them now, but bound in dusty tomes that very few demons care to read," he smiled faintly. "Most of us are not very scholarly, but there are some who are. These tomes are rare, _very _rare. So rare that some disregard them as the journals of a mad, rambling demon. Apparently, however, the Okudean myth is true."

"So," Yusuke hedged, feigning flippancy, though Kuwabara knew he was just as curious as he was, and glowered at him for trying to play it cool. "What's their story?"

Kurama's gaze fell back onto the girl.

"Well, obviously their origin had once been legends; something that demons long ago believed was real. It's been so long since anything about the Okudas was discovered that many have given up the pursuit in unearthing the truth of their extinction," he said, biting his lip momentarily, lost in thought. "Theirs being a dead language did not help the matter. Only a handful of relics, mainly those tomes in their dead script I mentioned before, prove their existence. Again, boys, there are many that believe they never had. There have hardly been any archeological findings to truly determinate that they once roamed the Makai, or ruled it, as some dare to believe."

Yusuke tapped his foot. "You seem well-informed on the subject."

Kurama smiled again. "As Yoko I spent many years trying to uncover Okudean artifacts, believing them to be the ultimate treasure."

"Did you find any?" Kuwabara asked.

"I have to remind you that many demons believe them myths, Kuwabara, even with such few relics that have been found that are linked to their history," Kurama stated, then shrugged. "It was mainly a fruitless endeavor. No leads. No knowledge. Ultimately, no treasure."

Kuwabara glanced at the girl, who breathed deeply, looking like a fusion between something wild and something enchanted from the forest itself. "Then how do you know she's an Okuda?"

Kurama was silent, remaining so for a long time. The forest's silence settled around them, his gaze locked onto the girl. Even Hiei's eyes flitted down toward her, but clenched his jaw even tighter when he looked away. Kuwabara shifted uneasily, hating this forest more and more with its creepy silence and dark, twisted trees that loomed like guardians in the distance.

Then, Kurama spoke.

"Because," he began, very quiet, very somber. "I once stole one of those tomes. I vainly tried to decipher it. I spent months attempting to, desiring nothing more than to understand their language, to track down their mounds of wealth and hidden treasure. In the end, however, I returned it to the demon that I had stolen it from."

Yusuke balked, nearly laughing. "You? As Yoko Kurama? _The thief king_? Why not _sell _the damn thing if no one could read it?"

Kurama chuckled lightly. "I never said I was pleasant about it, but returned it I did. And selling it would have been counterproductive towards my reason of returning the tome. You see, those months staring at the words I could not read, the markings that were so foreign and real and ancient, I became obsessed with the legends, thirsty for more knowledge."

"Oh?" Yusuke said.

"It was counterproductive, Yusuke, because the demon I had stolen the tome from was the only one alive to aid me in my venture. The demon regards herself as an Okudean linguistic extraordinaire, the only being in the three worlds who has dedicating their life to translating the language. And translate she did."

"Hn," Hiei interrupted scornfully. "Answer the question. _Why _do you believe she, of all things, is an Okuda?"

"Simple, Hiei: I have seen that marking on her face before. Not once, but dozens of times, hundreds. Dare I say thousands," he replied, peering at the white marking on her face, eyes bright with intrigue. "That marking had been etched onto the leather of the tome I had stolen, had been written uncountable times inside. Also, there is one—just one—mural depicting the Okuda race in a crystallized cavern close to my linguist friend's dwelling. The Okudas in the mural were white haired like she, also bearing markings of their language on their faces. It is said that the markings depict a characteristic that the Okuda would then epitomize in their society."

"What does her marking mean?" Kuwabara asked, feeling the thrill of curiosity in his fingertips, his eyes following the ornate pathways and curves of her marking's design.

Hiei sneered. "Hn. What do you think the words 'dead language' mean? That should make it quite obvious, fool."

"Hiei is correct, it is a dead language. In all my undertakings to do so, I never learned much about the language. Only one would know that meaning."

"Okay," Yusuke began, joining in on peering down at the strange demon girl. He hesitated, eyes narrowing as he thought. "Okay, so, what _exactly _is an Okuda? What makes them so different from demons now?"

_Good question_, Kuwabara thought, and asked, "Yeah, what powers did the Okudeans have?"

Kurama took another moment of silence. When he spoke, his eyes flitted towards theirs.

"Those who once knew," he said, "are long dead. Only theories remain, only those words in forgotten tomes. But it looks as though we may discover what they were firsthand."

The thought did not sit well with Kuwabara, who looked around at his friends with discomfort.

"Well," he said, peering down at the girl. "What should we do with her?"

Kurama chuckled good-naturedly.

"We clearly can't leave her unconscious on the floor of a haunted forest, can we?" he questioned, then sobered up quickly, adding: "If she truly is Okudean, than it is best we bring her to Koenma, or Genkai even. I will look into contacting Satsu about the marking she bears."

— — —

A/N: So, I attempted to make the second half of this chapter less of an info-dump than my outline originally suggested. Hopefully—fingers crossed—I prevailed.

Also, I would love nothing more than to individually PM all of you who reviewed, faved, and/or alerted, just to thank you (in quite a lot of words, probably, because what I'm receiving is blowing—my—mind) for doing so. But I always feel bothersome when I do. Instead, I'm just going to sit here and give you all a collectively GARGANTUAN thank you. No, seriously. **Thank you**.


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